


The Meeting with the Goddess

by azephirin



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Incest, Interracial Relationship, Intimacy, POV Female Character, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>She...is the life of everything that lives. She is also the death of everything that dies.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meeting with the Goddess

**Author's Note:**

> To the extent that canon appears here, it's consistent with _A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back_ , and _Return of the Jedi_. I've borrowed some details from [Wookieepedia](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Main_Page) (best name ever) but have otherwise used the Extended Universe only as it suits my purposes. Title, summary, and section headings from Joseph Campbell's _The Hero with a Thousand Faces_.

  
_  
**The Antihero**   
_   


Han is affectionate, knowing, and greedy, older than Leia by only a few years, but gifted with experience in this particular area well beyond what her circumscribed life was able to provide. He likes to be on top of her, hard and urgent inside her, his hands buried in her hair; he likes her on top of him, too, so that he can finger her nipples, stroke her clit, devour her body with lazy, avaricious hands and eyes. He’ll come inside her and then push her legs apart to lick her, taste himself in her cunt, describe the flavor to her with words that shock her at first but that she comes to demand from him later. When she’s come a second or third time, she pulls him up to kiss him, to lick them both from his mouth, and sometimes, if enough time has passed, he’ll fuck her again, leaving them both wet and exhausted, covered in their own and each other’s slickness.

He’s all tenderness, though, as he gathers her against him, pulling her close to wrap his large body around her small one as they sleep. He’s hesitant, even, as if, after all this time, he still believes she might one day tell him no, that he’s good enough to fuck but not good enough to sleep with after. She lays her hands over his and lifts them to kiss the palms, to press her lips to the scars and calluses.

The next morning, they bathe together, then wash the bedclothes themselves. They have a house staff, but certain details of the General’s and the Chief of State’s lives together are best kept private.  


 _  
**The Trickster**   
_

These years later, Leia and Lando are old friends: comfortable, amiable, almost family by this time. She’s never seen him, nor he her, less than fully dressed, and their relationship is nothing but collegial. Still, she wonders.

He would be, Leia thinks, as confident and clever in bed as he is in every other arena of his life. He would tease, stretching his long body out next to hers, propping himself up with one elbow to watch her face as he touches her lightly but deliberately, bringing her to the edge only to pull back and do it again, over and over until she begs him to do it, please, please. And he would, maybe with his fingers, maybe with his tongue, and then he’d sink into her with exquisite control, hips rolling, ass flexing under her hands.

She isn’t sure when his relationship with Mon Mothma started, but she remembers seeing them together one very early morning, ship’s time, at a table in the back corner of the mess hall on _Home One_. Plagued by insomnia, and with Han asleep and Luke’s light out (which did not necessarily mean he wasn’t awake, but was a reasonable reliable indicator that he did not want to be disturbed), Leia had dressed and gone looking for tea and possibly companionship from others similarly restless.

Lando and Mon had been sitting on opposite sides of the small table, not touching—no one could accuse either of the slightest impropriety. Yet Leia had turned and left the room quietly, before either of them could see her, because—in a bare and unpopulated mess hall, in a sleepless hour of the morning in the dark days before a battle—the cool and composed Mon Mothma had been leaning toward Lando Calrissian and laughing.

Now that the war is over, they attend social functions together and dine with Leia and Han now and then. They do not touch in public, but sometimes, if the night has been long and Mon’s greater years have begun to show, if only a little, in the corners of her eyes and in the set of her mouth, Lando will set his hand at the small of her back, and she appears content to have it there.

Leia hopes they laugh in bed.

 _  
**The Hero**   
_

Luke gives himself to her.

He likes her on top and, if she’s honest, that’s what Leia too most enjoys. He lies supine, waiting for her, and if she positions herself over his mouth, he’ll pleasure her tirelessly, his hands careful and even reverent on her belly and thighs. She’ll run her fingers through his hair until the intensity builds too high to let her think of anything but impending orgasm, and if she forgets herself and grinds down too hard, pushes his face against her, Luke allows it unhesitatingly.

Usually she fucks him after that—she knows that most people would think of it the other way around, as him fucking her, but that doesn’t seem right. Sometimes he touches her when he’s inside her, worshipping her with his hands, but more often he keeps them above his head, the delicate-looking insides of his wrists exposed, fingers clenching into fists, gripping the sheets but not moving from their position, as though they’ve been tied. She’s never done that to him: It seems like overkill, and it’s somehow more delicious that he’s willing to hold himself like that without needing to be restrained. Sometimes she leans down to trail her hair over his shoulders and press his wrists into the mattress; he’ll arch up into her, his eyes closed, biting his lip to keep from crying out. He’s a silent lover, swallowing and choking back any sounds, but his face freely reveals sensation and emotion, and she likes to kiss his eyelids as he struggles in the sweet agony of orgasm, breathless and completely surrendered.

Luke’s a head taller than she is, but she encircles him from behind as best she can, pressing her lips to the nape of his neck, holding him while he sleeps. She stays the night with him when she can, even though she rarely rests: It is not often that Luke sleeps deeply, and Leia loves watching over him while he does, loves that he trusts her so much.

Leia seldom stays the night. Certain details of the Jedi Master’s and the Chief of State’s intertwining lives are best kept secret.


End file.
